The One Before Valentine's Day
by Bailey2
Summary: Everything is about to change.


It was instinct by now - she'd open the door, just home from work, and he'd be sitting in the living room watching TV, and he'd find himself giving her the biggest, goofiest grin. Just happy that she was back.  
  
So today was no exception; upon hearing the lock click in the door, he glanced up eagerly. She walked in, looking weary and a bit melancholy, but as soon as she saw him she gave a gentle smile, and he grinned back.  
  
"Hey," she said.  
  
"Hey. Long day?" He was already sympathetic, rising to give her a hand with her purse and a few shopping bags.  
  
"Mmhmm." She sighed. "I feel like I was on my feet for hours."  
  
He made a worried face. "You okay?"  
  
She looked up at him, smiling, and then laughed softly. "I'm fine. I'm just tired."  
  
"C'mon, sit down." His hand was on her arm, he was urging her toward the living area, where she sank gratefully into a chair and leaned back, closing her eyes.  
  
"What about dinner tonight," she murmured, looking like she could fall asleep at any moment.  
  
"Don't worry, I'll take care of it." He studied her familiar face. Beautiful. She was so beautiful.  
  
"Thanks," she sighed, snuggling deeper in the chair. Within moments her chest was rising and falling evenly, and she was dead to the world. He carefully covered her with a blanket, then straightened and walked back into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, he peered into it, perplexed. They needed to go grocery shopping. Well... she usually did that.  
  
Shrugging, he reached for the telephone, dialing a nearby Chinese restaurant by heart and placing an order. Garlic chicken, her favorite, and egg rolls. Oh, and fortune cookies. She liked to read all the fortunes and pick her favorite. He told her it didn't work that way, but she never listened.  
  
Thirty minutes later, their dinner arrived, and he carried the food to the counter and spooned it out onto plates. Woken, perhaps by the tangy smell of the food, she wandered into the kitchen with tousled hair and droopy eyes.  
  
"Oh, you got my favorite, sweetie. Thank you," she said gratefully, as he handed her a plate heaped with chicken and rice.  
  
Anything for you, he thought, giving her a warm smile.  
  
They ate in comfortable silence; for once the TV wasn't blaring and their friends weren't bursting in unannounced.  
  
"This is nice," he said quietly, after he'd about cleaned his plate. She was still working on hers, and she glanced up to grace him with a smile.  
  
"Yup. It's so quiet."  
  
He nodded, ducking his head for a moment and gathering his nerve. "Can I ask you something?"  
  
She looked up at him inquisitively. He closed his eyes against a sudden wave of emotion.  
  
"Sure, sweetie. What is it?"  
  
He reached out, fiddling with the silverware and having trouble meeting her eyes. "Did you ever wonder..."  
  
He was having trouble finishing the sentence, and she put down her fork, studying him with something like concern written across her face. "Wonder what?"  
  
The words were there, already formed, but he couldn't seem to say them. Finally he just shook his head, rising and carrying his plate over to the sink. "Never mind. It's not important."  
  
"Hey..." She came up behind up and his shoulders were drawn up, rigid; he was automatically defensive even though she still had no idea why. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" she asked, quietly, at his elbow.  
  
"Nothing's wrong."  
  
"Honey, I wasn't born yesterday. And I know you. I know something's wrong."  
  
He shook his head, but she crossed her arms and stared at him. Stubborn.  
  
"Please. It's nothing, just let it go." He brushed past her, silently cleaning up the remains of their dinner. She stood by the counter, silent, and when he finally looked over he saw that her head was bowed. She seemed so tired.  
  
And his heart broke, just a little.  
  
"Hey." He stopped what he was doing and crossed over to her in two strides, pausing until she looked up at him. Her eyes were shadowed and her expression was perplexed.  
  
"Is it that I'm leaving? Because Joey, I don't have to do that. I know we agreed, but I love living here with you, and although I want Ross to be there with me every step of the way... I can't forget that YOU have been with me, too... every step."  
  
He took a deep breath, realizing how easy it would be to go along with her and continue living this lie, this little fantasy in his head where he, Rachel, and the baby were enclosed in a protective bubble, and there was nothing more fulfilling than seeing her walk through that door every night.  
  
Then he shook his head. Betraying his friends was not what he was about.  
  
His hands settled on her shoulders, and he looked her in the eye. "You need to go, Rach. You and Ross and this baby... are a family. He needs you and you need him, right now."  
  
She nodded, but she still looked a little sad. He smiled a little through the pain, wanting her to know he was okay with this.  
  
"And hey. I'll still be here, whenever you need me. You know? And you can call me, anytime. In the middle of the night if you want. And as long as I get to be the favorite uncle, I guess we're cool, okay?"  
  
He got a smile out of her, then, even as her eyes looked a little watery. She hugged him tightly, and he breathed in the familiar scent of her shampoo, and perfume, and that peach lotion she always used that now permeated the bathroom.  
  
It saddened him to think that eventually the lingering scent would fade.  
  
That would make it final, he thought. Her absence.  
  
Like when Chandler left only a thousand times more painful, and he'd never believed that was possible, but it was because somewhere in between paper towel throwing and popcorn fights and her bitching at him because he'd left the toilet seat up again, their friendship had shifted in time with the swelling of her belly and the baby growing inside her, and he thought that this might just be it, the woman that he was supposed to spend...  
  
"You'll definitely be favorite uncle," she whispered to him, a promise.  
  
...and reality crashed in.  
  
"Yeah," he whispered back, feeling like he just might cry. "Yeah."  
  
Uncle Joey with the foosball table and the cool entertainment center. Uncle Joey across the hall. Ross was a dad and Chandler would likely follow in short order, but he would always be...  
  
"C'mon," he whispered, pressing his face into her hair so she wouldn't see the tears in his eyes. "Ross will be here early tomorrow morning. I'll help you pack."  
  
--  
  
AN: I don't think Joey/Rachel would ever work. There would just be too much angst, and I expect that's what we're going to get after the Olympics hiatus. As I wrote this I kept thinking back to what Chandler said, last season I think, that he and Monica would have an apartment over their garage where Joey could grow old. He was joking, but I can't help feeling the guy might be destined to be alone, so I wrote this from Joey's POV. And yeah, the POV was meant to be deliberately misleading at first; were you mislead? :-) As always, feedback of any kind is welcome. 


End file.
